


Empire Bay's Finest

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Overworking, Radio Hosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27330211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: "Uh, hey, ladies and gentlemen, uh - we're gonna interrupt our musical selection on ECNR with - urgent breaking news - Rockin' Ricky Fox here - we're getting reports that several of Empire Bay's finest have tragically lost their lives on the line of duty."Keeping his attitude positive and bringing smiles to the listeners' faces has always been part of Ricky Fox's job. With the violence in Empire Bay on the rise, the news coming to the studio is not always bright and sunny, and neither is Ricky's mood.
Relationships: Ricky Fox/Billy Beanman (Beanie)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Empire Bay's Finest

**Author's Note:**

> "Rockin' Ricky Fox" is my favorite radio anchor, I usually listen to Empire Central Radio (ECNR) while driving in this game; and to be honest I could spend hours just driving around the city with his voice, remarks about rock'n'roll, cigarettes, washing machines and computers, and the amazing songs "he" plays.
> 
> That said, I noticed a couple of things in his personality (oh boy). He has this ultra-positive attitude most of the time, he sounds like he's constantly hyperactive, high on caffeine or something ("I'm Rrrrrockin' Rrrrricky Fox" lol) but then at times he seems to be very thoughtful and caring and affected by the acts of violence happening in the city that he has to report on. If you listen closely, you can even hear him complain about certain things that he has to report on ("Why am I getting all these reports? I'm trying to entertain the kids!"), and he's always annoyed when he has to stop the rock'n'roll sound to report on yet another shootout. E. g. in the "Wild Ones" chapter, he literally tries to keep his voice all happy and funny while being handed the news about the deaths of the greasers, and then he's like "okay, let's play some music since we all need it."  
> He mentions his producer - Beanie - occasionally when he gets angry on-air about the somber news ("Why are you doing this to me, Beanie?!"), and you can literally hear the distress in his voice when he reports on the shootout at Sea Gift Company; he sounds like he's about to cry. Also, it's him who worries the most about Vito's safety on-air as he reports on the fire in Vito's house in Greenfield ("Kids, stay in your homes but contact the authorities if you have any information on Mr. Scaletta's whereabouts. Or indeed, if you are listening yourself, Mr. Scaletta - Vito - please, let the EBPD know that you're okay.") Also whenever he's genuinely distressed, he doesn't even use his "Rockin' Ricky Fox" name but instead sadly says he's "Richard Fox".  
> I imagine him to be kinda like "Corny Collins" from Hairspray movie lol :)
> 
> You can find the whole reel of Rockin' Ricky Fox on youtube under the name "Mafia 2 Radio News - ECNR (Empire Central Radio) 1950s", and from 11:50 you can hear Fox's report from this fic about the shootout in Sea Gift Co.
> 
> Also, the 2nd part of the game takes place in 1951, while the rock'n'roll craze and the music that often plays on the radio - and the whole way the world is portrayed in "1951" - came only later. In 1951, the United States were involved in the Korean war and it was also pretty much the height of the McCarthyism; an era of incredible paranoia and suspicion about everything possibly communistic; and it was still a pretty...conservative time? I just wanted to point this out. My story is set in this fictional game world of Empire Bay, where in 1951 you can listen to rock'n'roll all day on the radio.
> 
> Ricky Fox just wants to live his American dream, leave him alone :)

Ricky rolled his eyes as soon as he heard the familiar knock on the window of the recording studio. _What was it now_? He put down the record he was holding in his hands and tried to signalize in a polite way that he was listening. As much as he loved his job, the long shifts have been getting on his nerves, especially lately, since the program really took off and there were more adverts, more interaction with the listeners, more work to be done and more lines to be said. Sometimes, his throat would hurt from all the talking. He didn't mind that - he _loved_ this part of his job; the way he would put his headphones on and sit at his desk and just _become_ _Rockin' Ricky Fox_ , talking to the listeners on the other side of the wavelength. Lately, his job hasn't been much fun. The rock'n'roll groove has been regularly interrupted in the last weeks by news about shootouts and violence in city neighborhoods, findings of bodies in cars parked around the city, and the threat of war between the various gangs. Every new interruption of his radio show meant grim news about deaths, stabbings, and arsons around the city, and whenever Beanie knocked on the window of the studio to gain his attention, his heart skipped a beat.

They used to have a good time in the studio not so long ago. Beanie would sit with feet up on his desk, reading the newest playboy, showing him some of the pictures to distract him when he was trying to comment on the latest news, smoking his usual cheap cigarettes and rolling his eyes whenever Ricky had to make the obligatory mention about their sponsors and business partners, like praise a certain type of coffee or oil. And sometimes, he would sit in the next room, showing him written messages on pieces of paper through the window separating them - _Fancy a drink_?, _Oyster Bay tonight_? or _5 minutes to go_.

Then one afternoon, Beanie knocked on the window of the studio again, interrupting Ricky's rant about _The Liquitones_ ' new album, and his face looked unnaturally pale. _Major shooting, greasers, the Forge_ the note on the paper he showed said, and he didn't look like he was messing around.

It all went south from there.

Now every time Beanie signalized that there was some breaking news, he could feel a lump in his throat. What was it going to be this time? A robbery? A drive-by shooting, murdered greasers, a bomb in a car on the street? When had this city become a warzone? It broke his heart when a song, especially a good, fast-paced, cheery one had to be stopped and silenced - for what? - for terrible news of somebody's death. No matter if they were part of any so-called gang or an alleged mobster - to Ricky, it made no difference. Where there were violent deaths, there was destruction and disorder, and everything he disliked. He knew that working for a radio station would supply him with stories that might not always be positive but - Jesus Christ - things were getting out of hand. Not so long ago, he would make jokes on-air about the 'alleged' mafiosos and gang leaders, because, in his mind, these people spent their days playing poker and laughing their fat asses off at the police incapability to convict them for their suspected crimes. He imagined them doing their business - whatever it may be - quietly to go unnoticed. Then a couple of pubs and restaurants got blown up - "probably as a warning", Beanie said, shrugging - but to him, the "warning" meant he had to talk about a couple of ordinary people, who got killed or injured just because they were dining in their local restaurant or passing by at the wrong time. 

And it wasn't just deaths and injuries; they happened occasionally but not enough to paralyze the life in the city - nor to push the police to take any real stance - but more common crimes included complete destruction of certain shops, hotels, businesses, stolen cars - an attack on everything an ordinary citizen of the city had. What were they working for if it could be destroyed with a couple of molotovs and machineguns? What was this all for? He saw his friends, people he knew from the college; those who were eager to go to war but by the time they got out of college, it was over - or they were enrolled but never made it out of the States. They all followed the same path of finding a job and a place to live, and they all dreamt of the newest model of chevy and eventually a nice house in Levittown-styled suburbia where the chevy would proudly show his neighbors that he's _well off_ , and an American flag hanging over the door would tell everyone that he's proud to be living in the greatest country in the world where he can listen to rock'n'roll and entertain the people by doing what he loved all day.

 _What is it?_ he mouthed towards Billy. Beanie's face was serious - that wasn't good - as Cindy seemed to be frantically talking to him, presumably trying to fill him in on the news as she was always the first one to get the news through the telephone. Then, Billy beckoned him to come over. The hand gesture was enough for Ricky's heart to sink. He never had to leave his place at the desk with microphones and the record player unless it was serious, and he hated breaking his on-air persona mid-work.

He put his headphones down and walked out of the recording room, leaving the record on. "What's the matter?"

Cindy handed him a piece of paper with the words she'd written while on the phone, as it was the usual procedure.

_A major shootout involving the police at the Sea Gift factory -_

He glanced at Billy as if to ask whether that was true.

_Several dead policemen -_

"Oh my God - " He couldn't help it. He covered his mouth in utter shock because - policemen - _dead policemen_ \- that could be - "Policemen?"

"They said so," Cindy whispered, her voice betraying her shaken state.

"Tom's on a duty today - "

Cindy's helpless yet compassionate glance was the last thing he needed now and still, he was glad she was able to give him at least _that_. He was sure that Tom was working today, his sister always complained that every day of the working week Tom had to work until late at night - but it couldn't be true. He was still staring at the word "policemen" written in Cindy's neat handwriting. Policemen - that could be anyone - but he knew for a fact that Tom, a policeman, his brother-in-law, the husband of his sister Rita, was on a duty today.

"Is it true? How many - _people_?" He didn't need to specify what he wanted to know. Cindy looked at the ground.

"More than ten, surely - fifteen maybe? Twenty?" She shrugged, raising her eyes to meet his. "I'll write the full report, okay? So you can read it."

"Beanie - " Ricky felt like life was slipping through his fingers. "Tom is on a duty today - he's working - what if - They've just had a baby, he's never done any wrong - "

"I'll call to their house - " Billy mumbled, turning to get to the phone.

"No - Beanie - " The world felt like crumbling down on him. What if Tom was dead? What if his sister was a widow by now? And the baby - how could anything like this happen? " _The police_?" he said with so much emphasis that Billy had to understand. The police, yes. The police were involved now, and that didn't look good.

Beanie shook his head. "This city's going down."

Ricky bit his lip, trying not to scream, shout, punch the wall, or break down - what the fuck was wrong with the people? Why were they doing this? What was the point? He covered his mouth again, swallowing the cries for help - what if his sister's husband was really dead? What would she do now? They got married a year ago - and they never did any harm, they didn't deserve anything else than a happy suburban life ever after. 

"I'll call her," Billy said again, patting his shoulder. "It'll be fine. Where do they live? Still on Foden Street 17?"

"Yeah - Thomas and Rita Francis," he mumbled mechanically although Beanie probably knew this well.

"Alright. Get the report from Cindy and read it on-air - "

"No - " Ricky could feel his throat tightening. It wasn't just about Tom - every other policeman deserved to return back home to his family. Why should they be dead when their murderers ran free? Billy's approach was uncompromising. He went straight to the telephone to try and call Rita's household. "What if he's dead, Beanie?"

"He's _not_."

William Beanman had one great personality trait - he could present any action or event as a fact, so nobody would get emotional over it. It was a long-running joke in their small studio that Billy was a useless slob who just lounged around the studio all the time without actually working, but he was the one who represented the station while dealing with the more powerful men from the Broadcasting Union; when those complained about their style of reporting or the fact that rock'n'roll was played on their station all the time, which didn't seem to be very popular with the people who contacted the Union - the people who Ricky constantly referred to as "square parents". William Beanman was William Beanman only when he was wearing a suit and carrying his briefcase; otherwise, it was just Beanie, a friend of all.

Ricky tried to take a deep breath and walked over to Cindy to get the report written down nicely. Dead policemen - how nicely would that need to be written to erase the fact that there were _dead policemen_? Cindy tried her best, she should have been a copywriter or something - her long sentences had both a touch of dignity and a sense of class. Ricky took the paper and returned back to his seat. He hated to do that but he had to manually stop the Everly Brothers' record.

" _Uh, hey, ladies and gentlemen, uh - we're gonna interrupt our musical selection on ECNR with - urgent breaking news - Rockin' Ricky Fox here - we're getting reports that several of Empire Bay's finest have tragically lost their lives on the line of duty."_ He swallowed hard and licked his lips. This was harder than he thought. " _The brave officers - were gunned down while on service to our fair city - as they attempted to disrupt what appears to have been a drug deal gone terribly wrong. Now, the shootout occurred at Oyster Bay's famed Sea Gift fish packing warehouse a few moments ago, we're just - getting these reports in now. The names of the victims - will be released as soon as their next-of-kin have been_ _notified."_ He paused, folding the paper in his hands. _"This is a sad day indeed, kids, for the EBPD and the whole of Empire Bay. This is ECNR, Empire Central Radio_." He remained seated with his head hanging down as he put the record back to play.

 _Jesus Christ_. Maybe it was his brother-in-law.

And the _next-of-kin_ would be his sister.

He looked desperately towards the window separating him from Cindy and Beanie. _What now_? Billy was still holding the phone but he shrugged in a wordless answer. _No connection. No answer. Nobody at home._

He buried his face in his hands, thankful for the music that distracted his thoughts a little bit, and closed his eyes. He didn't look up until he heard a soft thump of a glass being set down on the desk.

"Here - "

He opened his eyes again and raised his head. Billy brought him a glass of whiskey, the one they kept in the studio _just in case_ \- just in case the working hours were too long or there was a reason to celebrate. If there was a reason to celebrate, they would all have their glasses. This was just help out of pity and necessity. 

"Drink it up."

Ricky grabbed the glass and mindlessly gulped its content. The bitter taste warmed his throat; it felt like a punch straight between his eyes. God, he needed that. 

"Want another?"

"No - I should probably go home - well, more likely to see my sister - "

"Nah, nah, you need to stay. Hey, I'll fix you another drink - Cindy will try to call again, okay? You need to be here - I need you for the reporting. And if we get any more news, you'll know it first. Okay?" He quickly patted Rick's shoulder, grabbed the empty glass, and practically ran back to the office for more alcohol and to instruct Cindy to keep trying to reach Rick's sister's house. Then he came back with the promised drink. "Put another record on."

Ricky mechanically did as he was told. The familiar movement of his hands and the ritual of changing the record seemed to work as a calming procedure, something he did every day without thinking twice. The world around him couldn't be crumbling, his family couldn't be in danger if all he had to do was still to put records on and sometimes talk into the microphone. Maybe Beanie was right; maybe this was the place for him now.

"Cindy will try and call her regularly but we also need to be available if there's any news," Beanie said, giving him the drink. "Hey, he probably wasn't even there. Don't think of the worst scenario - Come on." He took one of the vacant chairs and brought it next to Ricky's to sit down. "You stay here, wait for more news to come through, get busy with the music and other news - "

"You're probably right."

"Of course. Hey - " He placed his hand on Ricky's knee comfortingly. "Cheer up. We don't know anything yet."

Ricky nodded, taking a sip of the whiskey and swallowing it along with the tears that felt like coming out any time soon. "It's just - the city and everything going on now. I don't wanna see stories on bodies discovered in abandoned cars and hotels being blown up - " He sighed, turning the glass in his hand. "I'm here for the music. It's starting to get to me, you know?" He blinked furiously, realizing that the tears were uncontainable. " _Oh damn_ \- " He clasped the glass with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the back of the other. "Sorry - "

" _Jesus Christ_ , don't make _me_ cry now, Ricky." Beanie patted his knee and then squeezed it. "Where's the crazy rock-n-roll anchor now?"

"He'll be here soon," Ricky forced himself to smile. "Just wait 'till I finish this drink."

"That's the spirit."

"You know - I hate it when I look up and you're just showing me to stop the music and give me some serious news - It used to be that when you had a piece of paper in your hand and you were showing that to me through the window, it was a bad joke or you were asking me if I want to go grab a sandwich to _Sparry's_ when we finish. And now it's always - a murder, a theft, and arson... Sometimes it's too much - I'm starting to hate the sound of knocking on the window. "

"If you'd need a day off - I'll call someone else to cover your shifts tomorrow."

"No, I think I'll rather stay in this environment. It keeps you on your toes. You go out and wonder whether something is gonna happen when you're actually out there, or if it all only happens when you're sitting at your desk at work." He rubbed the base of his nose and drank a little more of his whiskey. "I'll be fine. I should get back to work."

"Are you sure?" Billy checked through the window whether there was any update from Cindy but she just shook her head. "I'll stay there and if we get to know anything, I'll tell you." He got up, returning the chair back to its original place. "If you need anything, just give a sign. It's gonna be fine. You know how many policemen are there around the city?"

"I know but still - even if it wasn't Tom Francis - there are all the others - And they surely have families to come home to as well - "

Beanie sighed and gave him a saddened smile. "Well, what can we do? Just try to keep the spirits up."

"Keep the spirits up," Ricky repeated. "Thanks a lot, Beanie."

Billy patted his shoulder and went out of the studio. He put his headphones back on and took a deep breath.

_Rita's husband is fine - until proven otherwise. And she might be out of the house because she went shopping, or maybe for a walk with the baby, or she's visiting someone. Who knows what had really happened, the first news always tended to be a little chaotic. They always changed as time went by. Maybe the shootout was with fatal injuries, but who knows how many deaths actually occurred, and how many were on the side of the police._

Cindy will let him know as soon as she learns anything.

Until then, it was just another day at work, and he needed to pull it together.

There was a firm knock on the window yet again, and he clenched his fist, twitching at that sound alone.

Beanie stood there with a sign on another piece of paper.

_Fancy a sandwich at Sparry's tonight?_


End file.
